


Faded Memories

by FictionalKnight (Northern_Star)



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, M/M, Melodrama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-21
Updated: 2008-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 20:30:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Star/pseuds/FictionalKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was written for the World's Finest Gift Exchange. The prompt was: <i>F40: Bruce is mindwashed by Ra's (or some other villain) and it's up to Clark to bring him back home -physically or mentally or both. </i></p><p>I love angst. I really, really do. So when I saw this prompt, I couldn't help myself and I nabbed it. Now, whether I did it justice is a whole other story, but I had a lot of fun working on this (as much as fun can be had when writing angsty things like this!)</p><p>With huge thanks to <span class="ljuser ljuser-name_capefetish"><a href="http://capefetish.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://capefetish.livejournal.com/"><b>capefetish</b></a></span> for the help, the encouragement, the beta, and the really nifty icon. *hugs you tightly*</p>
    </blockquote>





	Faded Memories

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the World's Finest Gift Exchange. The prompt was: _F40: Bruce is mindwashed by Ra's (or some other villain) and it's up to Clark to bring him back home -physically or mentally or both._
> 
> I love angst. I really, really do. So when I saw this prompt, I couldn't help myself and I nabbed it. Now, whether I did it justice is a whole other story, but I had a lot of fun working on this (as much as fun can be had when writing angsty things like this!)
> 
> With huge thanks to [](http://capefetish.livejournal.com/profile)[**capefetish**](http://capefetish.livejournal.com/) for the help, the encouragement, the beta, and the really nifty icon. *hugs you tightly*

When he came to, he was lying on the ground, one leg folded under the other, and his arms spread out above his head. He didn't know how he had ended up like this.

Upon reflection he realized that he didn't know where he was. Nor did he know who he was, which was a lot more troubling...

He brought a hand to his forehead and discovered he was wearing a mask. One that seemed to have pointed ears atop it, for some reason... He looked down at himself and noticed some sort of logo on his chest. He had no idea what it was, or what it meant.

Carefully, he picked himself up from the cold, wet asphalt where he'd been lying for god knows how long. The armor he was wearing seemed to have some rips in its front, and blood was seeping out from a few of them. He didn't seem to be injured beyond that. At least, not gravely.

Once on his feet, he looked around the place where he'd woken up. It was night, and by the number of stars he could see, he estimated that it was somewhere around midnight. But how he knew to look for the stars and how he'd been able to tell anything from them, he had no idea.

He seemed to be in an alley, but in what city, he didn't know. He didn't even know what country he was in, for that matter, though it seemed to him that America was probably the right answer. His thoughts seemed to form in American English. There was a sign on the brick wall that warned trespassers of surveillance cameras - the phone number under it had the right number of digits for the United-States.

Other than that sign, there didn't appear to be many clues for him to gather. Clues. The word apparently meant something to him. He wasn't sure why, though. Perhaps it was just what he'd been doing prior to his 'accident', looking for clues? Might be. But there was no way to know.

He looked around the pavement for anything that might be useful, anything that could help him figure things out, but found nothing of use. So, he started walking. There was only one direction he could go in - the alley was a dead end - so he headed toward where he'd find another street and, hopefully, his way.

When he exited the alley, he noticed that the area was completely deserted. For some reason it seemed odd to him. There should have been people here. He didn't know what kind of people, and he didn't know why he knew this either, but there should be people here.

He frowned. Something was wrong, and this went beyond the fact that he had no idea where he was or where he'd come from. However, in the state he was in, there was no way for him to know what it was that was wrong with this scene. For his own sanity, he decided not to think about that for now. It was maddening enough not to know anything about himself, and it seemed to him that not knowing was something he highly disliked.

He started walking again, trying to hide in the shadows as he did. Something inside him told him this was a good idea. Besides, he didn't exactly figure that someone dressed like him would really venture out into the world and just walk around like it was perfectly normal to do so. He was pretty sure that people didn't walk around dressed like this much - unless it was Halloween, of course, but considering the armor he wore looked like the real thing, and not a plastic replica, it was probably safe to assume that he wasn't wearing a cheap costume.

Concealed in darkness and shadows, he made his way from one street to the next, hoping something would look at least a little bit familiar. It didn't, but at least he noticed that the further he went, the more people there were on the street, even given the time. That was a good sign, he thought.

He kept on going, pretty much on autopilot, following what his instinct told him; turn left here, go straight for a couple of blocks, turn right. Where he was going, he wasn't sure at all, and although the scenery didn't seem any more familiar than the alley he'd woken up in had looked to him, something told him that he was going in the right direction.

He held on to that belief as long as he could.

After a moment, he found himself in front of an apartment complex - one that seemed familiar. Yes. This place... he knew this place. He'd been here before, he was sure of it. He could feel it in every fiber of his body.

He walked into the lobby and went up a few flights of stairs, and then abruptly he stopped in front of a door. This was the right floor. He didn't recognize the door per se, but he knew that it was the right one. He opened it and walked into a well-lit corridor. Now, _that_ wasn't exactly a good thing. But it was late, and people were more than likely asleep at this hour, so he kept going.

When he passed by the door marked 3-B, he unconsciously reached into one of the compartments in his belt, and pulled out a key. Realizing what he'd just done, he started at the key, then the lock on the door... He shrugged and slid the key inside the keyhole. Sure enough, when he turned it, the lock opened.

He slid the key back in his belt, then grasped the door handle and opened it, walking inside the apartment and shutting the door behind him quickly and as silently as he could.

Apparently, he was home.

He headed for the bathroom, removing his mask on the way. Once there he stared at himself in the mirror, realizing with much regret that he had no idea whose blue eyes he was staring into.

Sighing, he began taking off the armor he was wearing, careful not to reopen wounds that had stopped bleeding. He reached into the medicine cabinet for something to clean and dress the cuts and scrapes, placed everything methodically on the counter before him, and went about his task.

A half hour, several pieces of band-aid and about a tenth of the bottle of peroxide later, he walked out of the bathroom, his mask in one hand, and his armor and belt slung over a shoulder. He headed off to the bedroom, dropped his things on a chair - where did he usually leave these, anyway? - then reached in a drawer for some clothes to wear.

Amusingly enough, the clothes he found all seemed a little... big on him. Not by a lot, but just enough to for him to notice, and definitely enough to bug him. He tried to ignore it. Perhaps he'd been working out - wearing that armor that weighed damn near a ton could most likely have caused him to shed a few pounds, of course that would probably have also increased his muscle mass, so perhaps that wasn't why the clothes didn't fit so well, after all.

He was suddenly pulled out of his musings by the sound of the glass door out on the balcony slowly sliding open.

Someone was attempting to break in!

His mind, and his every muscle, immediately went on full alert. He flattened himself against a wall and carefully, silently followed it all the way to where he'd be able to see who'd gotten in before he... _clobbered him_ seemed to be the first idea to come to his mind.

He got close enough to see the person sliding the door back behind himself. He lunged, arms in position so he would hit with the most amount of force and knock the other person out as quickly as possible. It didn't occur to him to wonder how he knew these things - they seemed to be so well ingrained in him, they were like second nature.

But when he made contact with the 'enemy' the only thing his well-calculated blow achieved was a wave of excruciating pain that radiated from his hand all the way to his shoulder. Gasping in agony, he tumbled to the floor, clutching his arm closely against his chest.

"Bruce?" the other man said. "Are you all right? What on earth are you doing?"

Lying in the floor, eyes glistening with tears of pain, he looked up to the man standing above him. Whoever this man was apparently knew him - he'd be able to tell him who he was, shed some light on all of this. He tried to focus on the figure before him, though the pain was making it hard. The man seemed to be wearing blue tights and red boots? Was that even possible? He looked higher up and saw a diamond-shaped crest on his chest...

"S-- Superman?" he mumbled.

He remembered this man. He remembered his name. How? Why? When he couldn't even remember his own, how was it possible that he knew this man's name? And why would Superman come in through the window of someone else's home?

"Bruce? What's wrong?" Superman said, as he helped him up from the floor.

"I don't know," Bruce said, shaking his head miserably.

Superman frowned. "Come on, talk to me, you're scaring me..."

Bruce looked at the other man's face and saw very real concern in his eyes. Eyes he recognized - for some reason. This was someone he trusted, he knew this much.

He sighed. "I don't know," he repeated weakly. "I don't... remember," he added, insisting on the last word.

"You don't...remember?" Superman echoed. "What don't you remember? Help me out, here." He started leading him toward the living room couch.

They sat and Superman reached to a table lamp, turning the light on. His expression seemed to turn to surprise as he eyed the man before him. There was a smile, but it faded quickly. "What happened to you?" he asked. He extended an arm toward Bruce, but then seemed to change his mind and let it drop to his lap instead.

"I have no idea," Bruce admitted. "I... When I opened my eyes, I was in an alley somewhere, lying on the ground. I got up, I started walking... I ended up here. I don't know how or why. I figured this was my home..."

"That's... interesting. Odd, but interesting."

"I don't live here at all, do I?"

Superman shook his head. "No. This is _my_ home."

Bruce frowned. "Yours? Don't you have a Fortress in the Arct--" He stopped abruptly. "I don't know how I know this," he said, shrugging. "It's right, though, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. I have a Fortress in the Arctic. Or rather, Superman does." He stood up, then turned into a blur of red and blue. A second later, he was dressed in a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, with a pair of thick glasses sitting on his nose. "I live here," he said as he sat back down on the couch.

Bruce tried to think for a moment, and the name seemed to dislodge itself from his brain, all on its own. "Clark," he said, eyes narrow in thought. "How come I remember you, when I don't even remember myself? I suppose this explains why none of the clothes I found fit me all that well... They're not mine at all, are they?"

"Nope. That's _my_ Monarchs t-shirt, and _my_ sweat pants. I have to say it's rather... amusing to see you in them."

Bruce shrugged. He didn't understand why it was amusing, but he guessed there were more important things that he needed to know, rather than finding out why his wearing sweats was funny.

"But if I don't live here, why would I have had the key to your front door in my belt?"

Clark's eyes went wide for a fraction of a second. He shook his head. "You probably have a key to every Justice League member's place in there, I bet."

Bruce frowned. "Why would I do that?"

"Never mind." Clark smiled. "It's just who you are."

"Who _am_ I?"

"That's going to take a lot of explaining, I'm afraid."

"Then start talking," Bruce suggested, perhaps a little more forcefully then he had intended.

Clark's smile died completely. "You might not remember your name and who you are, but you're definitely still yourself."

"You make it sound like that's a bad thing," Bruce said.

"No, it's not that... Never mind." Clark got up again. "Look, if you want to remember who you are, perhaps the best place to start would be at your own home. Or, well, maybe it's a little late to drive all the way out there tonight, but we can certainly make it to your penthouse downtown."

"Penthouse?" Bruce echoed. Not only did he have a penthouse, but that was also apparently a second home - not his primary one. "Who the hell am I?"

"Bruce Wayne," Clark told him simply. "Billionaire playboy, and part time vigilante, better known as Batman."

Bruce looked at him, confusion clear on his face. "None of this rings any bells," he said, as he stood up and started to pace. "This is so aggravating! Why would I remember you, but not myself? Why is it that you seem familiar, your apartment feels like home, even your clothes had a familiar scent, but I don't have the faintest idea who I am? How could that possibly make any sort of sense at all? Who _are_ you?"

Clark seemed to consider his answer for a long moment. "We're friends. And partners. And I wish I could tell you why you remember me but not yourself, but...you're usually the one to solve puzzles. You're the brilliant detective. I'm just the super strong, super fast alien from another planet."

He sighed dejectedly, and Bruce immediately knew there was something about what he'd just said that wasn't exactly right, though which part that was, he couldn't really tell. Not yet. But he would eventually. He most certainly would.

"Just exactly how far from here do I live?" Bruce asked. "And where is here, anyway?"

"This is Metropolis," Clark told him. "You live all the way across the bay, in Gotham City. I can take you there if you insist... I know you hate flying, but we can always drive there."

"Flying?" Bruce asked, frowning. "I don't like flying?"

Clark gave him a small, self-deprecating smile. "With me, I mean. I don't think you especially dislike planes. Just flying with me."

"Well, I don't actually remember not liking flying with you, so... let's go."

"You're sure?" Clark asked, hesitantly. "You realize this means I need to, uh -" he swallowed hard "- hold you."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "And that's a problem for you?"

"Not exactly," Clark said, and Bruce could have sworn he was blushing slightly. "More like the problem you have with it..."

"Like I said, I don't remember." Bruce shrugged. "So unless this is weird to you--"

"It's fine with me," Clark insisted, perhaps a little too eagerly. "It's fine."

With that, he turned into a colorful blur again, and a moment later, there stood Superman, right where Clark had been.

"Ready?" Superman asked.

At Bruce's nod, they headed out to the balcony.

"Okay, so... how--?" Bruce asked feeling suddenly a bit awkward.

"Let's try like this," Superman replied, "Just place your arm on my shoulder." He put his own arm around Bruce's waist, then he looked over to him, waited a second for confirmation, and they took off into the night sky.

"Whoa!" Bruce gasped, ducking his head and burying it in Superman's shoulder, his free hand flying to grasp the man's belt tightly.

"Don't worry, I've got you," Superman said, looking over to him with a smile that reached all the way to his eyes. "I'd never let you fall," he added in a soft tone, which seemed to melt most of Bruce's fears away and he relaxed a little bit.

=+=+=+=

Bruce wasn't sure how long the flight took - time appeared to stretch in an odd way - and he was suddenly disappointed when he realized that they were about to land. He wasn't sure what he could possibly dislike about this form of travel... it certainly wasn't bad at all.

They landed in front of a very large, very old looking Victorian manor. Bruce blinked and looked around.

"Wow," was all he could say.

Superman let his hand drop from Bruce's waist, then he lightly tapped the hand that still rested on his caped shoulder.

"Oh, oh, sorry," Bruce said, removing his hand at once. "So, this is where I live?"

Superman nodded.

"Bet my family's going to be pretty annoyed that I can't remember them, huh?" Bruce commented, feeling suddenly awkward at the thought that he had completely forgotten about everyone he shared his life with.

"I don't think you have much to worry about, Bruce," Superman said, though when Bruce turned to look, he noticed that the man had reverted back to being just Clark. After a short pause, Clark went on, "Alfred and Dick will certainly understand, trust me."

Bruce gave him a surprised look. He lived with two men?

Seemingly catching on to the unspoken question, Clark immediately explained, "Alfred, is your butler. Well... he's more like an old family friend, really, but that's basically all he is. Dick is your adoptive son. He's twelve."

"I see." Bruce nodded as they approached the front door. "No wife or girlfriend?"

"Depends how you want to look at it," Clark replied, repressing a chuckle.

"What do you mean?"

"You usually have a different girl on your arm every night." When Bruce only appeared more confused, Clark added, "Never mind. Let's go in."

"I don't think I have a key," Bruce commented. "At least, if I have one, it's not anywhere in _your_ sweatpants' pockets. Might have been in my belt, though?"

"Don't worry, you don't need one." With that Clark extended an arm to a small, very inconspicuous numeric pad by the door, punched in a combination and when the light turned green, he opened the door.

"You know the code to open the door?" Bruce asked, surprised.

"Um, yeah..." Clark replied a touch embarrassed for a reason Bruce couldn't figure out. "Alfred gave it to me once. You probably didn't know. Then again, even if you did, you probably wouldn't remember, so I don't think it makes much of a difference, does it? Shall we go in?"

"You babble when you're nervous," Bruce stated simply. "I make you nervous?"

"More than you know," Clark mumbled, mostly to himself, as he gently pushed Bruce through the open door. "I can give you a tour, if you'd like," he said, sounding suddenly a bit amused.

"Just show me whatever room you think might spark a memory," Bruce said, sighing. The hall certainly didn't bring back any memories of his life here at all.

"I guess we should have used the other entrance, then," Clark told him.

"Other entrance?" Bruce echoed. "Look, I don't remember a thing. Would you mind being just a little more precise, because I can't follow any of this and it's pretty damn frustrating! No offense."

"Sorry, I forget," Clark replied. His eyes immediately grew to the size of a silver dollar. "Uh, I mean... I'll try to remember. I mean..."

"Clark, relax," Bruce said, patting him lightly on the arm. "It's fine. Just... try and give me more info when you can?"

"Sorry." Clark pointed to his left. "Let's go that way, it's the study. The other entrance I mentioned is for the Batcave. But there's a way down there through your study."

"Batcave, huh?" Bruce replied, in a bit of a chuckle. "Yeah, I suppose _Bat_ man would have a _Bat_ cave. Sounds logical enough."

=+=+=+=

"Nope, none of this seems familiar at all," Bruce complained after having spent nearly twenty minutes down in the Batcave, looking at everything there, inspecting, touching, trying to concentrate on the things he saw and touched. None of it sparked any sort of memory at all.

"I'm sorry," Clark said, a little dejectedly. "I figured if anything could jump start your memory, this would be it for sure. You spend just about every living moment here..."

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You're sure about that? I spend most of my time holed up down here? Seems... I don't know... Sad? Lonely?"

"You never minded before..."

"But you're absolutely certain that I'm Bruce Wayne - and Batman?" Bruce's expression turned somewhat dark. "Yes, of course I have to be, why else would I have been wearing that armor?"

"I'm absolutely, one hundred percent certain," Clark confirmed. "Even if you were just someone who looked a lot like... well... like him... I'd be able to tell the difference."

"You could?" Bruce looked at him, puzzled. "If I was, let's say, a clone, you would be able to tell? You can't possibly know me this well, can you?"

"I know your heartbeat," Clark replied, his eyes suddenly fixed on a point well behind Bruce. "No two of those are ever alike."

"Right. I bet you know every other member of the Justice League's heartbeat as well, just as I apparently keep keys to all of their homes, huh?"

Clark shrugged, though Bruce noted there was something awkward about it. "I should probably get going," Clark said. "You ought to get some rest, anyway. Who knows, maybe after a good night's sleep, everything'll start coming back to you."

"Oh, uh... yeah, probably," Bruce agreed.

They headed back up to the manor, and Clark showed Bruce where to find his bedroom, before taking his leave.

Bruce stood before the huge ceiling-to-floor length window of his bedroom and watched as Superman flew up into the night sky. The glass resonated shortly from the sonic boom that indicated that the man had broken the sound barrier, and suddenly Bruce felt more lost and alone than he had since he'd woken up earlier that evening. The one person in this world Bruce remembered anything about, and he'd let him fly right back to Metropolis.

Rolling his eyes at himself for being so ridiculous, Bruce closed the drapes, took his clothes off and slipped into the football field-sized bed in the middle of the room.

After several hours of staring at the ceiling, trying to force memories out of his locked brain - but failing - Bruce finally feel asleep, completely exhausted.

=+=+=+=

Bruce woke up at the first sounds of someone coming inside his room. Alfred, he realized, as he saw the older man carrying a silver tray. Not that he recognized him at all, but he did fit the description to a T.

"Good morning, master Bruce," Alfred said, confirming Bruce's deduction that this man was his butler.

Bruce pulled himself into a sitting position, wincing from the stiffness in his limbs. He wasn't sure how he'd overexerted himself, but he'd apparently done an excellent job of it.

Alfred set the tray on which he had carried breakfast, on the bedside table. "I've taken the liberty of canceling all your appointments for today," he said in an equal tone. "Master Dick is off to school already. I explained the situation to him earlier."

Frowning, Bruce asked, "Who explained it to you?"

"Why, mister Kent, of course." Alfred raised an eyebrow. "He seemed quite concerned for your well-being when I spoke to him this morning."

Bruce's frown deepened. "Do you speak to him often in the morning?"

"Only when there are things he thinks I should know," Alfred explained. "Which happens to be fairly often, come to think of it."

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Bruce asked the question that was now burning his lips. "How well do I know him?"

"You really don't remember a thing, do you?" Alfred commented, in a tone that was almost fatherly. "Clark is a good friend of yours. And Superman, a partner."

"Just how _good_ a friend is he?"

Alfred frowned. "I'm not entirely certain how to answer your question," he stated after a moment's reflection.

"I mean, how...close...are we?" Bruce sighed. "There's something about this guy, I don't know what it is, but I _remember_ him. And that's...odd. I don't remember a blessed thing about myself, but somehow, I remember Clark Kent. How can that be?"

"Then perhaps you should speak to him about this?" Alfred suggested.

"He doesn't seem to know..."

"If I may... I think he probably does, but didn't want to say," Alfred explained. "And as for why you remember him, perhaps it's because some memories are too strong to be erased. Memories that aren't simply part of one's rational mind."

"Do you always speak in code, Alfred?" Bruce asked as he tried to make sense of the things Alfred had said, and to figure out what it was that he had _not_ said.

Alfred smiled and bowed his head slightly. "The detective in you usually appreciates the challenge. I shall endeavor to speak more straightforwardly from now on."

"No, it's fine. Don't change," Bruce said, as he picked up the warm cup of coffee sitting on the bedside table beside him. "Just be... you know... yourself. And then maybe, eventually, I'll remember you."

"I certainly hope you will, master Bruce," Alfred said as he started heading out of the room. "I certainly hope you will."

Bruce watched him leave, as he took a long sip from his coffee. This was maddening! He had no idea who had done this to him or why. And he had retained a few memories - all of which revolved around Clark Kent - but he couldn't figure out why. But worse yet, both Clark and Alfred knew something they weren't saying. Something Bruce was now certain he needed to find out, in order for him to unlock the memories that lay dormant in his brain.

=+=+=+=

Bruce had spent a long time down in the Batcave, trying to access files on the main computer, but failing miserably. He couldn't remember any of the passwords, as hard as he tried. He had finally resorted to ask Alfred for help, but though he had a certain level of access and permissions, there was only one person able to get to the more private areas of the system - and that person was currently suffering from a bad case of not remembering anything.

Thankfully, Alfred's access code had been sufficient for Bruce to be able to access enough files to give him some sort of idea who Bruce Wayne/Batman was. And while he had gained a whole lot of respect for the vigilante and his mission, he had been consistently appalled by the billionaire's behavior...

The things he had read in the society pages of the Gotham Gazette about himself were just... ridiculous and awful. How could two such opposite identities make up the same man? Obviously, one of the two was a decoy, and Bruce was pretty sure that Batman wasn't it. It was a wonder Batman could even accept to prostitute himself by living as Bruce Wayne.

Of course all these newspaper articles, all these files only gave him facts - they told him nothing of his reasons for doing anything, nor did they give him any sort of idea what his feelings or motivations were toward anything.

Worse yet, none of what he read about himself helped him remember anything at all, his memories still held captive in the dark recesses of his mind.

Bruce had then read all he could find about Alfred and Dick, and had spent a long moment marveling on the fact that a lot of the facts in the file regarding Clark Kent and Superman, he actually remembered. But none of it sparked any further memories. And at no time was there, as Bruce had hoped, a moment of epiphany when he remembered strictly everything he'd forgotten.

Upon going through the biographical notes on every one of his Justice League teammates, Bruce came across the file of one J'onn J'onzz - a Martian with the ability to read minds. If all else failed, Bruce thought, this man would probably be able to help. However, something told Bruce that his old self wouldn't quite like having his mind probed, so he'd try anything and everything else he could before it came to this.

And the first thing he should try was to have another little chat with Clark.

Just then, as if on cue, Bruce heard a swishing sound behind him. There was no need to turn and look to find out who this was; there was a good few people this might have been, but somehow, he just _knew_.

It took only a second for Superman to be standing right next to him.

"Remembered anything yet?" Superman asked as he gently laid a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce's head snapped up at the unexpected, yet so very familiar gesture. Superman looked at him apologetically.

"Didn't mean to startle you," he said. "I figured you would have heard me land - you usually do. I forget you're not entirely yourself. I'm sorry."

"No, that's not it." Bruce placed his hand over Clark's, just for a moment. Immediately, fragments of almost-memories started rushing through his mind. He closed his eyes and swallowed, removing his hand very slowly. "This feels... familiar," he explained finally.

"Oh." Clark squeezed Bruce's shoulder gently. "That's a good sign, then, I guess? You're remembering things."

"I only seem to remember things that are--" Bruce paused abruptly, thinking the better of it, then he turned in his chair and pointed to the other seat a few feet away. "Have a seat," he said, "I think we need to talk."

"We do?" Clark looked at him, confused. "What about?"

"Sit."

"Oh, uh..." Awkwardly, Clark pulled the chair closer and sat down. Then he stood up again, mumbling something about comfort before turning into a blue and red whirlwind. A second later, he was dressed in street clothes and sitting down. "Sorry, I figured-- I, uh-- this seemed like a good idea." He gestured to his outfit, an embarrassed look on his face.

"Are you normally this jumpy?" Bruce asked, before cocking his head to the side, frowning, and adding, "You're not, are you? You're just nervous around me."

In a somewhat flustered chuckle, Clark replied, "You make most people nervous."

"I do?"

Clark gave a small nod, still obviously ill at ease. For a moment, Bruce almost reconsidered this little chat he thought they should have, afraid that he'd somehow just make Clark even more nervous and find out absolutely nothing in the end. But the need to know - to understand - was too great, and he decided to press on anyway.

Eyes narrow, careful studying the man before him, Bruce asked, "Were we ever... involved?"

"Involved in what?" Clark asked, clearly baffled by the question.

"With each other," Bruce clarified slowly. "You know...? _Involved_. Dating, sleeping together... something like that?"

Clark sighed, shrinking in his seat somewhat. "Not exactly," he said after a long moment of hesitation.

"What do you mean, _'not exactly'_? We either were, or we weren't. There isn't much of an in-between on that one."

"It's complicated, Bruce."

"Complicated?"

"With you, it usually is," Clark said almost wistfully. "The bottom line is that no, we're not _'involved'_ -" he made air-quotes around the word. "We were never together in that sense."

"It seemed to make perfect sense," Bruce replied, brows furrowed in confused contemplation. "Why would I remember things about you when I remember nothing else? And it's not just facts that I remember, it's more than that... I ended up at your place instinctively when I had no idea what city I was even in. Everything from a touch to the scent of your clothes feels familiar. The look in your eyes, your smile... that feeling of safety when you're around. All of my senses somehow remember you. It goes well beyond the facts; it's senses and feelings, too... I-- I assumed this meant we had a more intimate relationship."

"Like I said, not exactly," Clark admitted after a moment's reflection. "The possibility existed, once. There was a time when--" He stopped, shook his head and went on again, "It doesn't matter. The point is, you rationalized and decided it wouldn't work, and that was that."

"I rationalized?" Bruce echoed, almost scandalized by the revelation. He could hardly believe that he'd do something like that - give up on something which he now felt had to be so right... Why would he ever act this way? Rationalized! That made...no sense.

Clark let out a small, humorless laugh. "It's what you're best at."

"Wow," Bruce let out flatly. "What kind of a jerk am I?"

"You're not," Clark told him, a sad smile spreading across his lips. "You're just... complicated."

Bruce frowned. "And you're too damn nice, apparently."

"Yeah, I get that a lot..." Clark smiled; a sad, apologetic smile.

"Does..." Bruce cleared his throat. "Does the possibility still exist, even now? For you, I mean..." At Clark's hesitant look, Bruce went on, "It does for me. I-- I'm sure I'm not otherwise attached. The way you and Alfred spoke... I expect someone would have told me, otherwise. And I--" He sighed. "Look, I don't know what it means. Or rather, yes, I do know. I think-- no, I'm sure. I'm very sure. Clark, I--"

"No," Clark cut in immediately, eyes wide and shaking his head. "Please don't. Don't-- don't say it."

"But... I--" Bruce frowned and considered things for a moment. "You think... you think that when I start remembering, I'll go right back to my old self again, and I'll push you away all over again. That's it, isn't it? I wouldn't. I won't."

"Yes, you will," Clark told him, adamant. "Look, you might not remember who you are and how you usually think, but I do. And I know that when you remember things again...I know exactly how that conversation is going to go, because we've had it before. And I can't do this all over again. I won't."

"You still have feelings for me," Bruce stated, impassively, just as he came to realize this truth.

"Of course I do," Clark said softly. "How could I not?" All of a sudden his eyes grew a little wide and he cocked his head to the side. "I have to go. I'm sorry, Bruce. I-- I hope your memory comes back. I'm sorry I couldn't help."

Frowning, Bruce watched him turn into a red and blue swirl, then a gust of wind. He sat there for a long moment, staring at the empty space, feeling as lost and alone as he had the night before.

Slowly, he turned back to the large array of computers behind him. Catching his own reflection in one of the monitors, he shook his head and said, "Well, I don't know who you are, Bruce Wayne, but I know this much: you're a world class idiot. You obviously had something good right there...and you let it fly off again."

Bruce took a deep breath as he made his decision and contacted J'onn J'onzz.

=+=+=+=

It had taken Bruce quite some time to figure out how to get to the Watchtower, and once there, how to find the way to the infirmary. He had crossed a few people on the way, some of whom he recognized from their profiles when he'd read them earlier. They all appeared to be surprised to see him... Of course, he had no idea why that could be. He didn't ask, nor did he bother telling any of them what was going on at all. He wasn't sure if his normal self would have, but he felt it more...logical...to proceed this way for now.

Finally, he found himself in front of the infirmary and walked in. There was no one around but the man he recognized as J'onn J'onzz. Bruce nodded in salutation.

Concern obvious on his alien features, J'onn asked, "Are you sure that this is what you want, my friend?"

"Yes."

"I feel I should remind you once more that there are risks," J'onn said gravely. "You understand this, don't you?"

"Of course I do. But I _have_ to do this," Bruce replied, his fists clenching in raw determination. "I _need_ to remember."

"Perhaps your decision is a little _hasty_ , Bruce..."

"J'onn... I appreciate your concern. I really do. But I _have_ to know. I can't go on like this. If it were you, if you'd forgotten all about Mars, lost all these precious memories of your wife, of your children, wouldn't you want to get them back at all costs, too?"

"I expect that I probably would," the Martian agreed. "But you have no such memories to--"

"Yes, I do," Bruce cut in immediately before pausing to consider things and finally admitting, "Or, I would if I wasn't such an imbecile... Look, maybe I'm not married, but... there's someone I need to remember. Or, well, I do remember, but I need to know more. I-- I can't really explain."

"I see. Well, if you are absolutely certain that this is what you want..." J'onn trailed off, giving Bruce one last chance to change his mind.

"You're not going to, uh... How can I put this...?"

"Sift through your memories?" J'onn offered, an eyebrow raised knowingly. "I would do no such thing. Your memories are not for me to read. I will simply attempt to unlock whatever I can unlock. Undo whatever has been done."

Bruce nodded. "What about any new memories I've made since the rest was...taken away?"

"I expect they will remain. I cannot be certain, of course, but it seems logical that they would."

"Good. Then proceed, my friend. Please."

=+=+=+=

Superman stormed into the Watchtower's Monitor Womb. "What's wrong?" he asked, clearly annoyed. "What couldn't you tell me over the comm link?" He'd been summoned up there by J'onn, but the Martian had refused to tell him what it was, saying instead that he would tell him in person once Superman got there.

"You should go to the infirmary," J'onn told him very calmly.

Giving him a dirty look, Superman objected, "I'm not ill!"

"Indeed you're not. Someone else is." At Superman's questioning and suddenly anxious look, J'onn clarified, "Bruce."

Superman felt his blood run cold. "What happened?"

"He lapsed into a coma, after undergoing a procedure to unlock his lost memories."

"He _what_??" Superman all but shouted. "Shouldn't you have tried to stop him, J'onn? Don't you know better than this by now?"

J'onn shrugged. "You know as well as I do how impossible it is to argue with a determined Bat."

"And you know as well as I do that he's--" Superman stopped, sighed, then went off in the direction of the infirmary. "He'd better damn well come out of this with his mind intact!"

J'onn watched him leave, an apologetic look on his face. "I certainly hope he will, too," he answered, mostly to himself.

=+=+=+=

As he walked into the infirmary, Superman ordered everyone out of there at once. With a few short bursts of laser vision, he took out every single security camera, and every microphone he knew of. Whatever happened next, he didn't care for anyone to be a witness to.

His heart contracted a little at the sight of his partner and friend, lying there with all sorts of wires and tubes hooked up to him, to monitor his condition.

"How could you do that, Bruce?" Clark asked, walking up to the bed. "Why? Didn't it occur to you that this could be dangerous? Don't you care that you could have had your brain completely fried?"

Pacing anxiously across the room, Clark went on with his diatribe, "Why do you always have to be so careless, Bruce? You do things like this without any regard for what any of us are going to have to--" He let out a frustrated sigh. "You can't do this to me, it's not _fair_. Not again. I can't go through this one more time. I can't keep losing you like this. Dammit, Bruce! Why'd you have to do this?"

Feeling defeated, Clark sat at one end of the bed and took Bruce's hand gently in his own. "You have to come back, you hear me? I'm not letting you leave again. You just can't, Bruce. You can't."

"I'm still here," said Bruce in a hoarse voice.

Eyes a little wide, his heart pounding right out of his chest, Clark watched him slowly sit up in bed. "What possessed you to do something so reckless?" he finally asked Bruce.

"I needed to know," Bruce explained, shrugging as he pulled out tubes and unhooked wires. "I needed to be whole again before it drove me insane."

Clark was about to argue that his memory would likely have come back on its own, should he just have waited a little longer, but Bruce didn't let him talk. "Let me finish," he told him hastily. "I had to remember, so that if-- no... when. _When_ I tell you I love you, and that I want to be with you...you'll believe me."

Hesitantly, and after a long, awkward silence, Clark finally managed to ask, "And do you? Remember, I mean..."

"I remember the first time we met..." Bruce said, inching closer and closer to the man before him as he spoke. "I remember our first kiss..." He inched closer still, close enough for their lips to meet.

"I remember that, too," Clark whispered, leaning into the kiss.

"I also remember," Bruce started, between kisses, "the moment I knew I was in love with you."

"When was that?"

"Every time you kiss me back," Bruce admitted, leaning in to kiss Clark again.

Some time later, Clark finally managed to ask, "Do you also remember who did this to you?" At Bruce's nod, he went on, "Shouldn't you be going after him...or something?"

"Eventually." When Clark looked back at him, clearly confused by the statement, Bruce simply explained, "I'll get him next time. For now, I think I'll just send him a thank you note."

> End.  



End file.
